


In trouble with Lee

by Spnfanfromeurope



Series: John won't win parenting awards... [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adults, Corporal Punishment, Gen, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:07:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28568970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spnfanfromeurope/pseuds/Spnfanfromeurope
Summary: Dean meets an old friend and have an...adventure.  Alcohol is included.John is not happy.Preseries.Inspired by season 15 episode 7.No spoilers.Warnings for a few four letter words, and a belt spanking.Follows my story "Ghost trouble" and i recommend reading that first, but both can stand alone, if you prefer.
Series: John won't win parenting awards... [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2091657
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	In trouble with Lee

Dean sat in a dusty motel room, staring morosely out the window, while he contemplated what to do for the rest of the evening.

What should have been an easy salt and burn at Sammy's school had gone totally FUBAR on him, Dad had come home in the middle of everything and …oh man… he'd been **pissed**. After the ass kicking was over, Dad had sent him off on a bus, telling him to make his way to Albuquerque in a week.  
Dean had sat on the bus, stunned by the sudden expulsion, uncomfortable in the throbbing pain from his welted ass, and his mind reeling with thoughts.  
How was Sammy? Was he ok? Would he get into one of his increasingly regular shouting matches with Dad? Would Dad kick his ass again, then, with Dean not around to play buffer?  
What if he didn't make it all the way to Albuquerque in a week? Would Dad even look for him? Or just move on? He knew he had disappointed his dad again but being sent off like this was a new thing. Was it because Dad finally thought he was getting too old for getting his ass whooped?  
Nah. Dean was pretty dang sure that Dad would still take his belt to his ass when he was 40 if they both lived that long. Dad must have been so mad, sending him off like this. Separating him from Sammy.  
Who would watch out for Sammy, Dad couldn't be around all the time… Dad didn't know that Sammy still refused to eat anything but Lucky Charms in the mornings. Would he let him have his way or would that end up in a fight and an ass kicking?  
The thought of breakfast made Dean realize that he was hungry. Nothing new about that, since he hit his teen growth spurt he had more or less been hungry all the time, but this wasn't just the baseline hunger, this was "you didn't finish dinner, you ran around half the night, then got a proper whipping, then sat on a bus the rest of the night and half the morning – hunger."

Dean shifted uncomfortably on the unforgiving bus seat. He'd have to find something to eat when he got off.  
He couldn't remember what his destination was.  
Dad had bought the ticket, while Dean was still shell-shocked from the belting and the message that he was being sent off alone. Sammy had been sleeping in the back seat, exhausted. Dean regretted not waking him up to say goodbye, but he hadn't been able to face that and then it was too late, Dad slapping the roof of the impala, telling him to get out.  
He'd have to get some money somehow. He had enough for a cup of coffee and a short stack at a cheap place, but that was it. Dad hadn't asked if he needed money and Dean hadn't dared ask for any. He'd manage. He could hustle some pool later tonight.

That had been 5 days ago. Dean had made it almost to Albuquerque, he'd hitchhiked most of the way, gotten on a bus, when he had to, and spent his nights hustling pool, using his fake ID proclaiming him to be 21 to get into the bars, supplementing his meals with a little of the old five fingers discounts.

And now here he was.  
Last stop before hopefully meeting up with his family again. The manager at this motel had been pretty nice, letting him do a few odd jobs around the place in exchange for a bed for a couple of nights. So, he had a few extra dollars in his pocket. Dean stood up. He wanted a beer and a pretty waitress to flirt with. Maybe a game of pool that wasn't an outright hustle. He went out to find a bar.

He was halfway through his second beer when he got slapped on the back. He spun around to the grinning face of an old friend.  
"Lee!"  
"Heya, Dean, what' ya' doing way out here?"  
"Oh, just meeting up with the old man and Sammy up at Albuquerque, you?"  
"Whaddaya think? I'm on a hunt. Monster next town over, killing teenagers… not sure if it's a ghost or what… Wanna join me? I could use the back up."  
"Gotta go meet up with the old man first, but…"  
"Oh, if'an he's game for it, that'll be cool, it's a bad one, this."  
"Yah, we gotcha."

The night ended up being unexpectedly fun.  
Lee had enough cash for a few rounds. Three bottles of Jäger later they'd ended up back in Dean's room at the no-star motel.  
Not only that, but they had brought company. Triplets. Dean's head still swam at the thought. Actual triplets.  
But they had shared and shared alike, all fair and square. It had been a long, active night. One to remember. Sort of. There were some rather hazy bits, thanks to that darn Jäger.  
That stuff really was nobody's friend, Dean decided. And coming back up, it tasted even worse than going down. He'd stick to beer and whisky from now on, he vowed to himself in the bathroom the next day .

Two days later, when the hangover had finally fully dissipated, Lee tagged along to Albuquerque to meet up with Dad and Sammy. First motel in the yellow pages as usual.  
Dean tensed up when he walked into the dingy room and saw his dad getting up from the couch, but Dad just walked right up and gave him a hug. It was brief, and hard, and the stone Dean had been carrying in his gut for the last week melted into a warm puddle of relief.  
Sammy's hug was long and tight, and it felt like an accusation, which Dean didn't know how to answer. So, he just hugged Sammy back, then pushed him a little and said: "Enough with the Chick-flick moments, Bitch."  
Sammy punched him in the arm and said: "Jerk." And all was well between them.

John nodded to Lee, shook his hand, then looked at Dean with a raised eyebrow.  
"Lee's hunting, he needs back up," was all Dean needed to say. Soon they were all gathered around the table, doing research and readying weapons.

One early evening a couple of days later, they left a protesting Sam in the motel, got into the Impala and drove off to save some people, by killing some of the things that goes bump in the night.

As the car rolled closer to park that was the hot-spot for the killings, they ran through the plan again: John would circle round, stalk out the residential area behind the park, while Dean and Lee would wait in the car near the entrance, to see who moved in and out during the night. Surveillance. Boring but necessary.

John leaned back in the seat rolling his shoulders as he eased the big car through the dark silent streets. Then he reached for a tape and popped it into the tape deck.  
"Listen up, boys. This is real music" he said.  
Lee and Dean grinned at each other; the kind of grin young men have always given each other behind the backs of their elders…. and sang along to the lyrics:  
"Just the good ol' boys. Never meanin' no harm. Beats all you ever saw. Been in trouble with the law. Since the day they was born."

Hours later, Lee, got out of the car and stretched.  
"I'm gonna go find a place to empty the old kidneys and get something to drink, getting all dehydrated here," he announced and wandered off.  
Dean turned back to looking at the park gates, bored out of his skull.

He later thought that maybe that Jäger had permanently messed up his faculties.  
There was really no other sensible explanation for why he had not only accepted the bottle of cheap whisky, Lee had brought back to the car, but had put it to his lips and drunk from it.

They had turned the radio up, just a little, to break the monotony, leaned back and taken turns drinking while keeping half an eye on the street and the park gates, sharing stories of what they had seen and done since the last time they had met up.

It was one of those clear nights where it looks like you could just reach up and pick a star from the sky. Sitting in a car with a friend, a bottle and some old time rock and roll isn't the worst way to pass a night like that.  
Well, that is, until your father suddenly rips the door open, and starts yelling. The yelling didn't last that long, really. The silent drive back to the motel did. It seemed to last a lot longer than going in the other direction had.

John was tight-lipped, gripping the wheel so hard, Dean was almost expecting to see imprints of his fingers. Aaaand there it was, that particular vein in his temple, all blue and throbbing. Dean swallowed at the sight of it. When that vein started throbbing, it was a pretty sure sign that the next throbbing thing would be his own backside.

As John marched up to the motel room, Lee shot a look at Dean: "Is he going to have an aneurysm, you think?" he whispered, a bit pale around the lips.  
Dean groaned. "Afraid not. Would probably have happened years ago, if he were at risk of that."

"Sam, go sit in the car" John barked. Sam took one look at his dad and hastily got up from the dingy couch with a worried glance at his older brother. Dean just shrugged – get out while you can, the gesture said. And Sam wisely made his speedy retreat.

John turned back to the two young men with a dark look.  
Dean immediately rolled his shoulders back and stood up straight, parade form, while Lee took half a step backwards.  
Damn. John Winchester was one intimidating dude. Had he grown bigger since this morning? Lee was pretty sure the man hadn't been that big, sitting with a mug of coffee and his journal this morning.  
At the sound of his name, Lee quickly tuned in to the words filling the dusty room.  
Ah. A question… uhm…  
"Honestly, sir" - better to be polite – "my dad was much opposed to drinking. Pretty conservative guy."  
"No, sir. Drinking on a job, any job, wouldn't been something he approved of."  
"Yes, sir, my dad would have had things to say about risking my life like that."  
"Yes, sir, pretty stupid."  
Lee moved his feet uncomfortably at the next question, but there didn't seem to be a way out of answering.  
"Well, uhm… yeah…he'd probably take a belt to me, to be honest… Sir."

Lee was dimly aware that Dean's head shot around to stare at him at this point, but there wasn't much space in his mind for his friend's reactions right now. The big angry man in front of him seemed to fill the entire room, including any available room between Lee's ears.  
"You what? – Sir, I'm a bit old for that, ain't I?"  
"Really? Oh. Uhm. Well. I guess… I did go buy the bottle … it was sort of my fault, the whole thing… I…"  
Lee swallowed something. It felt like his heart.  
It really wouldn't be fair to go now, leave Dean to face the fallout of the evening alone.  
Lee wouldn't be able to look his friend in the face again, if he did that.  
"Yeah, no, I mean, ok, yes, sir… uhm... where… how?"

Lee looked helplessly at Dean. His own dad had preferred the good old over the knee thing, and had passed away before Lee got too impossibly big for that, but he really couldn't see himself going over the knee of frigging John Winchester…  
Dean huffed out a breath, grabbed Lee by the wrist and walked the both of them over to the sagging green and brown couch.  
As Dean opened his belt, he whispered, "Only the jeans" and Lee felt a wave of relief.  
All fair an' all, getting punished for being stupid enough to get wasted on a hunt, but going bare-assed in front of the Winchesters? No, thank you, please not. With a deep breath, Lee copied Dean and bend over the back of the ugly couch.

Having said his piece, John went straight into the hands-on (or rather belt-on) part of the evening's entertainment.  
Lee gasped at the first stroke, slamming his hips forward into the couch in an unconscious effort to get away from the pain.  
He heard Dean do the same a moment later.  
And so it went.  
John seemed to be an old hand at the double dosing, managing to keep the belt dancing from ass to ass so fast that the pain from one lash had just spiked when the next one landed.

All prideful ideas of maintaining a dignified silence dissipated and Lee hung limp over the back of the couch, stuffing his wrist into his mouth to dampen the sound of his sobs.

The whisky had made his head spin, hanging down like this made it worse.  
Between the relentless onslaught of pain, the dizzying effects of the alcohol and his upturned position, he was seriously starting to think that he would end up puking all over the couch, himself, and with his luck, probably John Winchester too, and then he would die.  
John would kill him flatter than dead. At least that would stop the fire consuming his ass.  
Dimly he heard Dean begging his dad to stop and decided to join the choir. A little begging was a small price to pay if it meant surviving the night.

When the whipping finally stopped, it took Lee a moment to realize it was over. He felt a shudder run through Dean's body, and slowly pushed himself to his feet as Dean straightened up.

While John hugged Dean, Lee slowly dragged his jeans over his sore backside, wincing as the rough fabric touched the welts. He had just managed to draw the zipper up, when he was surprised by John gathering him into a hug too.

When he'd let go, John looked from one kid to the other.  
"Never again. Ok?"  
They both "yessirred" obediently, and John announced that it was time to hit the sack.

John told Lee to go get Sammy from the car and when the young man had left, John looked at his son, saying seriously:  
"I like Lee. I've never seen anybody better in a fight. But you can't let him get you into the kind of messes that could end up with you dead. You hear me, boy?"

Dean nodded and apologized again, scared that the next words from his dad would be to send him off once more, ejected from his family. But John didn't say those dreaded words.  
He just put his hand on Dean's shoulder and shook it a little, quite gently, and said: "Ok, then. Now, let Sammy see that you are still alive, and then turn in. We have a day tomorrow."  
With great relief, Dean answered: "Yes, sir."


End file.
